Pale Country Pursuit

by Hans Kneifel

  At the moment he exhibited an inner tension which led me to believe that he was preoccupied with perhaps a number of things. He watched every move I made with the gears or the wheel. He also carefully observed the country ahead of us and every once in a while he would check the rear-view mirror, the curved glass of which was also being defrosted by a hot-air blower. Apparently he was looking for any signs of an attack by the snow ghosts.

  And all the while he ate and drank with the healthy appetite of a gourmet. He might have been thinking also of other problems but I couldn’t be sure. The plain sloped downward. The ground beneath the ice and snowdrifts slanted gently until in about another 30 meters it gave way to the icy surface of the lake itself. In contrast to the terrain we had thus far traversed, the lake was one big mirror that had been polished smooth by the wind.

  “Take it easy! We’re liable to skid. Don’t try to steer it—use the tractor chains!” Sawbones rumbled at me.

  I had to admire him. The old devil thought of everything.

  I was to learn later that he was thinking thoughts I could not have surmised— since he had never divulged them to me. With some secret amusement, Fratulon was aware of my thoughts about him because he in his turn was thinking about me.

  I have to save him, thought Fratulon, from Orbanoshol, that hangman in the Crystal Palace.

  Atlan is his brother’s son and the only actual threat to his throne. If we don’t reach the Crystal Planet ahead of the Kralasenes, Orbanoshol will have him killed. But I’ll prevent even that—if I have to resort to means so primitive as to boggle the mind. By Arkon reckoning the remarkable little lad was only 4 years old when I fled with him. Just now it seems that our flight has not only been observed—but has also reached a critical stage. Until recently, Orbanoshol has been searching all over the galaxy for me and Atlan, but now his henchmen have found us.

  Sofgart the Blind will spare no effort to capture us. Actually all we need is a one-hour head-start to reach the Crystal Planet. Just a few minutes of lead-time for each coming day—that’s all I want!

  Atlan will survive these hardships because he’s almost as capable as I am. But if he were my age and had my experience this trip would be much easier for him. And the girl—well, we have to take her with us, there’s no other way! She’ll be as much of a burden as the Chretkor with his continuous fear for his life. But the journey will become more perilous with each passing day.

  Such were Fratulon’s thoughts that late afternoon as he ate his roast beef and observed the slopes while keeping an eye on me and my handling of the steamobile out on the icy surface of the lake.

  I reached down close to the poorly-insulated pressure boiler and grasped the lever that operated the tractor drive.

  “Easy now!” warned Fratulon.

  I nodded silently. The big tires still maintained a grip on the ice without skidding. I had to calculate the right speed for engaging the steel treads or the car would go into a spin. As our pace slackened and I reduced power to the caterpillar drive, I slowly lowered the lever. When I heard the scratching of the tractor spikes on the ice above the howling of the loose bearings and axles, I knew I had made it. Having timed the whole thing correctly, I slowly locked the cleat chains into position. A series of hard jolts went through the machine. Our smokestack belched out a swarm of sparks as the firewood collapsed and crashed down into the ash grating. Then the tractor gripped in and propelled us straight on ahead.

  “Where is that cave from here?” I asked Fratulon.

  “Across over there-more or less as you’re going. There’s a big rock that looks like an upraised fist. The cave is camouflaged and we’ll have to back into it.”

  “Great! That’s all need!” I checked both of the rear-view mirrors. Nobody was following us, but a blindman could have detected the trail we were leaving behind us. True, the wheels themselves were not marking the ice but the mirror surface behind us showed two rows of spike pits from which fine cracks radiated in all directions. The tractor cleats were not designed to be gentle.

  The shadows were lengthening now. The day was ending, and before us still lay several hours of travel.

  When I heard the exploding sound I waited instinctively to be blown to pieces. The pressure tank! The thought shot into my mind in that first instant.

  Then I heard Farnathia scream, the Chretkor shriek and Fratulon curse—all at once.

  Behind us the ice was splitting open.

  3/ THE PHANTOMS STRIKE

  The extent of the crack in the ice could not be determined at first but as the echoes of the thundering detonation faded away I could see in both rearview mirrors that the fissure was widening. It seemed to extend an unknown distance and to be developing on either side of the racing snow car.

  “Open ’er up—straight on!” gasped Fratulon. “Give that turbine a full head of steam—wide open! The snow ghosts have found some way of breaking the ice but whatever—this will start a whole network of cracks all over the lake!”

  “Nothing like a word of encouragement!” I grunted ironically. Down inside me my nerves were pulling tight enough to snap. I could feel the cold clamminess of drying sweat on my face and under my furs. I opened the steam valves wide and adjusted the synchro as precisely as possible. The car scurried zigzag over the lake like a giant bug.

  “That’s doing it!” said Fratulon. He was busy checking both rear-view mirrors, alternately looking behind us and pressing his nose to the front windshield to look in every direction he could.

  There was a crackling and rumbling beneath us. Then again, a loud report. The deep sound echoed vastly about us, whipping back and forth from the ice-walled mountains in a long roll of thunder. A second fissure was opening in a direction that was parallel to our course and yet it also turned 50 meters ahead and crossed our path.

  “Hit it! Cross it before it widens!” yelled Fratulon while he grabbed one of our guns from the ceiling rack.

  The burner exhaust was glowing almost white hot as it pumped out an oily black cloud of smoke that trailed behind us over the ice. I held the car on a direct line ahead while compensating for 6 churning wheels and wildly slipping tractor chains.

  The fissure ahead of us, about 9 feet wide, rushed toward us with inexorable speed. New sweat broke out all over me but Fratulon continued to point ahead with merciless determination. The first set of wheels reached the edge, at first giving us the sickening sensation of sinking into nothingness but then bouncing wildly against the shrieking springs as the tractor treads ground off the edge and the wheels hit the other side. The second pair of wheels went through the same gyration, hurling the cabin a yard high as we bounced again from the shrieking springs just as the caterpillar treads found traction on the opposite edge of the rift.

  The snowmobile came whipping and spinning onto the ice. I channelled full power to the tractor chains while switching the wheels to free-floating neutral. We executed 3 full spins before the chain treads somehow found a grip again and then virtually catapulted us away from the threatening ice gap. On instinct alone I managed to stabilize our course and drive onward.

  Still straight ahead toward the opposite bank of the lake where our deliverance loomed dimly through veils of mist and driving snow in the form of the fist-shaped mountain of rock. The sun disappeared behind a lofty shoulder of the crags beyond the shore.

  “That was a cool performance, lad,” commented Fratulon, “but of course it didn’t quite have the old master touch!”

  This was the master himself speaking, I knew, because in such moments he showed no pity for his student’s weaknesses. But whom was I to hate? Should I vent my spleen on him just because he was leaning hard on me now or myself because I didn’t have his age and wisdom?

  I didn’t have time to reflect on the question because a third detonation shattered the spell of evening.

  “Over there!” Fratulon pointed to our right.

  I couldn’t make out anything; even his eyes were sharper than those of younger men.
No doubt he knew what signs to look for.

  “You’re welcome to trade places with me,” I told him irritably after awhile.

  “I wouldn’t think of it!” he retorted. “Farnathia’s admiration would be lost on me if I gave it the master’s touch.”

  “But she does admire you!” crowed Ice Claw mournfully. The thought of falling into the ice-cold water of the lake had been a shock to him. He was ready to start crying out his fears again.

  I aligned our course with the target objective ahead and steered straight toward it. After awhile Fratulon calmly made an announcement.

  “Let’s hope the snowstorm will have let up by morning. It’s bad news if you have to drive when you’re blind.”

  “Snowstorm?” asked Farnathia. “What storm?”

  “The one that’s coming up now as a prelude to the night. For us it’s an advantage because it will cover our tracks. At least in most places. After all it wouldn’t be sporting of us not to leave just a few clues here and there—otherwise how would the poor Kralasenes know where to look for us?”

  It was Fratulon’s way of making us all burst out into roaring laughter—a trait which had gained him fame in all the taverns, caravansaries and arenas he had ever visited.

  We reached the great rock formation just as the last light faded from the sky. The Pale Land greeted the night with the howls of the upcoming storm.

  “Atlan!”

  “Yes, Fratulon?”

  “Take the portable lights and a gun and open the rear hatch. I’ll back this crate into the cave. If any scanders come out of the cave, shoot first and ask questions later.”

  I unstrapped myself. “What’s a scander?” I asked a moment or two later when I jumped out into the snow.

  “You’ll know when you see them,” the bearded one assured me in a dry tone of voice.

  I drew the long cable for the spotlights out of the cable drum and went stamping through the knee-high snow. Across my chest was the rifle. The two handspots lit up my immediate surroundings, their light shafts drifting before me like pale wandering phantoms among the tree trunks and casting long dark shadows behind the snow-encrusted boulders.

  “Straight ahead!” roared Fratulon from the driver cab.

  He proceeded to manoeuvre the vehicle slowly and carefully while the multiple wheels and the tractor chains made a jumbled clearing in the snow. Meanwhile I continued as directed. Masses of snow broke off from the low-hanging branches and covered my shoulders Finally, after another 30 steps or so, the spotlights illuminated the entrance to the cave.

  “OK, I found it!” I shouted above the noise of the whining turbine and the thundering wheels and chains.

  Slowly the snow car thrust backwards toward me. I went on to the cave entrance. Above us arched the great rock pinnacle which really did seem to represent the contours of an upraised fist. Giant icicles hung down from the rocky walls, their needle points aiming at our heads and the roof of the automobile. If one

  of those missiles should break loose—! I turned with a shout.

  “Fratulon—wait!”

  The giant wheels braked to a stop with a squeal. Fratulon shoved his upper torso through the open cab window just as the smokestack belched a black cloud and a tongue of flame, scattering sparks and smoke among the white branches above.

  “What’s the matter, Atlan?”

  I used the chalk-white beams of the spotlights to point upward. The bright light sparkled in a thousand reflections from the yard-long icicles. “If the snow ghosts ever get the idea…” I began.

  “Alright! Shoot that stuff down—but get out of the way when you do!”

  “I’ll give it a try!”

  I took a few steps backwards but apparently we had been overtaken by our local nemesis. Suddenly several icicles began to ring like bells. One of them cracked and swung back and forth momentarily, after which it shot downward vertically. It hit the snow with a sharp thud and broke into pieces. Far above on the rock we heard shrill laughter. I bent down to place the grips of the two spotlights in the snow, and then I raised my gun. The first shot cracked out of the barrel, striking the base of the biggest and longest of the icy stalactites. It burst asunder in a veritable hail of glittering splinters. But from both ends of the long gallery the hanging barbs now broke loose without my having to shoot them down.

  “The snow ghosts! Get your spotlights on them!” shouted Sawbones.

  I fired twice more and then a yard-wide hole gaped in the curtain of ice above. I leapt backwards into deep snow, grabbed a spotlight and aimed it upward. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a vague shape that made a gymnastic swing across the cliff-wall and then disappeared. The echo of my shot came back to us, then faded away. The snow car’s machinery clanked softly and a stillness of night gradually

  pervaded the scene.

  “They’ve gone,” I announced.

  “Not for good,” responded Fratulon. “I’m moving on in!”

  While I sought to calm my nerves I picked up the lights again, hung the rifle over my shoulder and stamped through the snow and broken shards of ice toward the cave entrance again. Sawbones followed me at a walking pace with the car. We arrived at the entrance and moved in a few yards but then the exhaust stack touched the ceiling.

  “Stop!”

  I shone the light into every corner of the cave as far as I could see. Even here there were animal tracks on the ground and the long brown-needled fragments of foliage that had been dragged in. There were some animal droppings here and there and a few small skeletons. With some hesitation I pressed onward but no wild beasts appeared to attack us. I came to a stop when I saw that I was at the end of the cave.

  “No scanders, Atlan?” called Fratulon as he helped the girl down from the cab. It sounded almost as though he were disappointed.

  “I feel like I’m missing something!” I answered sourly.

  The three of us met at the entrance. Fratulon had idled down the machine so that

  it merely provided warmth and could supply a small amount of power. I set down the spotlights but kept my rifle. The howling and whistling of the wind seemed to amplify itself in the cave entrance, creating an organ-like sound. As the first snow flurries came and I saw the heavy flakes settling down between the trees I knew we’d be spending only a short night here.

  “Well, what now?” I asked Fratulon.

  He struck a fist against his battered armour. “We eat. Farnathia will take care of that, won’t you, girl?”

  She smiled at us as she leaned against my shoulder. The unaccustomed strain of the journey was evident in her face. I was sorry for her but was not able to change

  what was. We could only try to make things easier for her here.

  “I could even heat up some tea,” she suggested willingly.

  “Excellent!” said Sawbones in his rumbling voice. “We’ll stay here till the first light of dawn. I’ll take the first watch. Then it’ll be your turn, Atlan. Portable spotlights, rifle and your dagger handy, right?”

  I nodded. “I get the message. Do the snow ghosts fight at night?”

  We were helping Farnathia to get back into the cab. Ice Claw crouched under a mountain of furs and stared at us with widened eyes. Nothing could be seen of him but his face. Apparently he sensed no danger of melting away under all those heavy coverings—or at least it hadn’t occurred to him yet.

  “There are no rules,” Fratulon reminded me. “That’s the only rule when you’re crossing the Pale Land. On our way to the stronghold we’ll still have to face a few adventures. Adjover and Kermant Valley are only half-way stations.”

  I waited until nobody could hear us and then asked him: “Do you know the way, Fratulon?”

  “Yes, as I’ve told you before—very well. I know all routes that lead to the base. After all, a fat old man like me has to have some certainties in all the unpredictable vicissitudes of life!”

  I laughed. “If we only get there in one piece!” I said. “Then it will be time for hand-clap
ping!”

  He went out again and took a turn of inspection around the snow car, which was parked in a favourable position. Although it was not completely sheltered inside the cave it was still largely protected from the cutting storm and blasts of snow. It was also ready for moving out again at a moment’s notice. It was ready to climb the slopes in the morning, provided it had a sufficient head of steam. The one who had the watch would also have to take care of keeping the fire going in the burner.

  “That would also meet with my approval,” he finally answered. He had ended his inspection, which had appeared to satisfy even his standards of safety. He nodded. “Inside now. Let’s have our supper!” Whereupon he climbed up into the cabin.

  It was comfortably warm The ceiling lights and the chart lamps provided just the right amount of illumination. We ate our food and drank our tea. Although our food variety wasn’t great it was filling and nourishing.

  The tea had been prepared with a sweet-sour touch of fruit juice and a shot of alcohol, which served to warm us from the inside out.

  Finally Fratulon straightened his sword and fastened his cloak. “You have two hours to sleep,” he announced. He checked his rifle and then wrapped a length of the spotlight cable around his wrist. “And I’d advise you to start now. Lean the seat back so you can stretch out.”

  He snapped off the chart lamps and went out. Seconds later we heard his footsteps fade away.

  “It isn’t as dangerous as I thought!” murmured the Chretkor as he slipped his cowl down over his eyes.

  After I had adjusted our seats back and locked them in position, Farnathia stroked my forehead. “Give me your hand, Atlan,” she whispered. “That way I’ll fall asleep better and won’t have any fuzzy dreams.”

  A shortime later we both fell asleep. To me it seemed only a few seconds before I felt Fratulon shaking my shoulder. I blinked and stared into his weary face. Ice crystals were thawing in his crinkly dark beard.